For the experience and the: For the experience and the complete journey, that is what this poem brings.
And for forks and avenues of thought and imagination bringing even more-
as an elegant feline moving through the foliage, graceful, elegant and strong.
In the Autumn of 1976, during: In the Autumn of 1976, during my first collegiate term, I heard what was then a new song, just released, Frampton's "Baby, I Love Your Way." At that time, it was given AM radio play in a truncated version; and so was the 45 RPM that my parents purchased for me and brought up to my dorm room. During the holiday break, I asked my parents for the album for Christmas, and, on Christmas Day, I heard the song with the exquisitely poetic second stanza intact---and, hearing it for the first time, in the privacy of my bedroom with my headphones on and my parents' incessant chatter momentarily shut out, I was so amazed by the that stanza that I simply sat staring at the wall, mouth hanging open, more amazed at this song than ever I had been by any other music of that kind. Since then, forty-six years, that song has been my favorite secular music. (Not even the first movement of Dvorak's Ninth Symphony, "From The New World," comes near to it.)
I said all that to say this, and to give you enough background so that you know the authenticity of this statement: Your poem, more than any other I can remember reading, reminds me of Frampton's "Baby, I Love . . ." And reading this, I again had that feeling of amazement. Is it the language? The strong imagery? The contours of the lines? Frankly, I don't need to know, because looking "under the hood" of the poem, so to speak, would trivialize its impact on me. I think it was Vladimir Nabakov, himself an astute lepidopterist, who spoke of the tragedy of catching and then gassing a butterfly so that one can dissect its parts and view them under a microscope. That will afford a good view of the anatomy, but the butterfly will never fly again, or visit a flower, or sip nectar. I will not subject myself to losing the effect of your poem in order to understand how that effect is achieved.
In the twenty-one years of my membership at PostPoems, I have been tremendously blessed and privileged to read some poems that are incredible masterpieces of poetic language. This poem, I gladly say here and now, is one of those.
You could read a shopping: You could read a shopping list and it would sound elegant, so the listening experience was otherworldly in its excellence. But savoring the words in print had its own transcendental rapture and ability to electrify.
"the world indeed is too much with us"
Wow! That's a line to die for. But then, so is the next line and the next . . . one can be absolutely submerged in the artistry and the feel of this.
You are The Bard!
It seems fitting to come back: It seems fitting to come back here and start experiencing the spectrum of words as they issue from mind and heart.
And as we go through the latter part of winter and the hankering for spring rising, this being a corresponding work of verse.
To be uplifted, inspired and encouraged is such a blessing.
Both are precious and: Both are precious and heart-tugging in different ways.
The first is a searing casualty of our unsparing reality: a child facing adult-sized pain and the second, some comic relief penned in your witty, signature style that leaves one wanting to laugh and groan at the same time. Not too many people could pull it off with such innate skill, but you turn the everyday into sensitive and cunning art.
Another successful Heron Clan!
There is quite a revelation: There is quite a revelation in godly sorrow which is a mourning that is characterised by humility and a turning back, an inward spiritual u-turn, so to speak. There is such a beautiful and functional truth about our choice for that glory that has been designed and purposed for us in the Saviour.
The feeling of isolated bliss: The feeling of isolated bliss on an ocean island is quite an experience. And to have music to fill the air adds to it an ambient atmosphere.
Starward, thank you for your: Starward, thank you for your encouragement. Your words have helped me make this project my chief focus in the days weeks and months to come. I've struggled with so many different things in my life and want for them to be redeemed into something that has made all the years of pain worth it. What the enemy means for evil, God has purposed for good.
And we know that all things work together for good, to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. - Romans 8:28
Did I misunderstand: Did I misunderstand something? I thought our conversations had been about Christian belief; but this poem suggests a kind of reincarnation. Human beings are the pinnacle of God's creation; they are the only created beings said to be "made in His image." How, then, would He allow you to "return' as something less than what you were when you began? I guess I am not understanding the belief position from which you are writing.
This poem . . . this superb: This poem . . . this superb spiritual testimony cast into the form of a poem . . . will bear more spiritual fruit than you, or I, or anyone who reads it will ever be able to imagine. This poem will bear blessings to its readers, and God will use it to accomplish much in His Timing. With this poem, you join the greatest Poets of Christendom.
The amount of courage: The amount of courage required to post this is beyond my ability to describe: "off the charts," though a trite phrase to use, is the only way I can think of to describe it.
The now defunct Soviet Union, of which I am no admirer whatsoever, had an award, given to those whose accomplishments, in that kind of society, were considered very great---Hero of Socialist Labor. In the ideal world, PostPoems would have an award, Hero of Transcendent Poetry, and you would definitely receive it for this series.
This, also, was rather: This, also, was rather difficult for me to read: not because of any flaw in the verbal presentation, but for the poignancy of the situation, and for the emotional power of your description of it.
I am going to tell you something that I rarely share with anyone. I think I have mentioned, before, that I have been reading poetry for almost half a century; this coming April will mark fifty years, a full fifty years, since that process began. During that time I have read thousands of poems, have re-read hundreds over and over, and have admired dozens and dozens. But only a very few poems have actually invaded me, conquered me, and carved out a territory for themselves within my soul. I apologize if my metaphor seems crude or trite, but it is all I can think of right now to describe the process. In the past before PostPoems, three great Poets invaded me: T.S. Eliot in October 1976; Wallace Stevens in October 1978; and Vergil (starting in the spring of 1976, and intermittently thereafter). On PostPoems, the poems of Patriciajj also gave me this same feeling---and, for the first time, I was seeing in real time what I had only experienced with the other three Poets by reading about in remembered or documented or researched time. But watching Patriciajj post her poems was a vision of the actual living process---and I felt as thrilled as I had when, during my Senior year in high school, Poetry took hold of me with a grip that has never released me. I have said all that, to say this: now, I am experiencing the same thrill as I watch the development of this superlative series of meditations. Although you cast your words in the form of prose in this series, it is still pure Poetry. And you are showing us not only how it is done, but also what it can achieve.
A French Poet whose pen name was Saint John Perse wrote a series of poems about natural phenomena as processes: he wrote about winds, movements of the sea, birds, and even time itself. (I am not nearly as familiar with his work as I should be.) You are working in the same general area, but instead of giving us the processes that the impersonal forces of the world accomplish (and which so fascinated Saint John Perse, who was also a brilliant diplomat for France), you are showing us the processes of the soul by which Little Evan becomes Big Evan. And you are presenting it as a Poetic process, which is a superlatively effective strategy.
Like the Poetry of Eliot, Stevens, Vergil and Patriciajj, your words in this series have invaded me, and will continue to do so. I do not open my soul often, or even willingly, to many; but to your words, I offer the key to the city, so to speak.
I apologize for failing to: I apologize for failing to keep up with series, but I hope to correct that this afternoon.
I am overwhelmed with admiration for this concept you have created and how you deploy it. This particular entry has some marvelous gems of wisdom: "Stubborn men learn stubborn lessons"; "'Dont pray for an easy life; pray for the strength to endure a difficult one'"; "stand up to that bully . . . by remaining seated." These are brilliant aphorisms.
Right before our eyes, a masterpiece is coalescening; this is like watching time-laspe photography of a flower blossoming, or (something I like to imagine), a star forming in some far corner of outer space.
I believe this series will offer sustenance, encouragement, and spiritual compensation to many who read it.
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